


The Angel of Darkness

by a_little_summer_wind



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Flash Fiction, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, One Shot, Short, Short One Shot, Short Story, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25615015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_little_summer_wind/pseuds/a_little_summer_wind
Summary: In the shadows of the pines and oaks, he could just barely make out a face. A sweet face, childlike yet somehow worn with age, with stormy gray eyes that smiled at him through the pitch blackness of the night. He knew those eyes. Ilse, his friend since childhood. The one who had run away from home long ago, like he was doing now. How was she here? Where had she been?Basically a one shot of Moritz's suicide, where Ilse is the angel of death. Idk what more to say honestly
Relationships: Ilse Neumann/Moritz Stiefel
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	The Angel of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on wattpad and copy pasted it here so please don’t freak out and think I stole it if you recognize it lol

_So dark._

The woods were a deep blue, almost black, colored only by the small rays of moonlight shooting through the forest canopy. Moritz didn't mind the darkness; he had always disliked the sun, and how it pained him as it shone in his eyes in the brightness of the day. Besides, he had bigger things to worry about now.

He turned to look behind him. The lights of the town were barely visible through the tree trunks. Not far enough yet, he thought. He turned back, started off again, away from everything and everyone he had ever known.

He could hear his heart pounding against his chest as he walked. There was a wind in the air, gentle but chilly enough to painfully pinch his cheeks as he pushed through the undergrowth. His legs continued to grow shakier as he fiddled with the cold metal hidden in the pocket of his coat.

 _This looks like a good spot,_ he said to himself.

He stood in front of an old pine tree, bigger than any he had seen so far in the forest. It was far enough away from the town that no one would hear the gunshot. Not like they'd care anyway, even if they did hear it.

He sat down, his back leaning against the pine tree, his long, spindly legs crossed in front of him. He nervously reached into his pocket. With a trembling hand, he pulled out the pistol and pressed it to his temple. He was just about to press his finger on the trigger when he heard a sound. A familiar sound.

"Moritz Stiefel?"

He flinched. He arose hurriedly, turned to face the darkness and whatever was waiting for him in it.

"Ilse? You frightened me."

In the shadows of the pines and oaks, he could just barely make out a face. A sweet face, childlike yet somehow worn with age, with stormy gray eyes that smiled at him through the pitch blackness of the night. He knew those eyes. Ilse, his friend since childhood. The one who had run away from home long ago, like he was doing now. How was she here? Where had she been?

"What are you looking for?" Ilse said. Her voice was kind, with a sort of deep raspiness that sounded much too mature for her age.

"If only I knew." He slowly crept forward towards her voice. He began to make out a shape between the leaves, the shape of a woman in a long nightshirt. She seemed to glow, somehow, almost like an angel. Maybe it was just the moonlight? Maybe not. Melchior was the nonbeliever.

"Then what's the use in looking?" She began to move forward towards him. She seemed to float, rather than walk. "I'm on the way home. Want to come?"

"I don't know." He had been to the Neumanns' house before. They were lukewarm, at best. They certainly wouldn't look kindly on the circumstances which had brought him to them.

"God, do you remember how we used to run back and play pirates? Wendla Bergmann, Melchior Gabor, you and I?" God, that was so many years ago. It was a memory so old that it felt more like a dream, a fever-driven hallucination. This all felt too unreal.

"Actually, I'd better go." He was growing colder by the second as the wind picked up. He began to turn back when she put her hand on his shoulder. It felt like ice. Of course it would have. How could she be comfortable in this weather, wearing only a thin shirt?

"Walk as far as my house with me."

He turned back to face her again. "I wish I could."

"Then why don't you?"

He suddenly felt his resolve begin to dissipate. Her eyes were so warm, so loving, more than anyone he had ever met. He knew he had a choice to make.

_So dark._

Slowly, his lips spread into a faint grin. She was there for him. Finally, he had someone who was really, _actually_ there for him. He didn't know what convinced him of this so fast. It was as if some force had swept over him. He didn't mind, though. Anything to do away with the sadness that had followed him everywhere he went. But that was no more. Finally, he could smile.

He looked into her eyes. Her face was surrounded by a glowing haze, an aura which lit up the night that enveloped him. He took her hand. She began to walk farther into the forest, and he followed.

They went deeper and deeper in. He had lost track of how long he had been walking when he came upon a river, the river he had only dim memories of.

They were standing in front of an old stone bridge. She turned to face him. _Should we cross it?_ Her eyes asked. She didn't need to speak for him to understand. And he didn't need to speak for her to understand that his answer was yes.

She took his hand and led him onto the bridge. He felt a chill as he stepped onto the withered stone, but it was gone before it even started.

They kept on walking.


End file.
